Joy on Wheels

Bill Zalot sees a chance to “do small things with great love,” as Blessed Mother Teresa urged — and takes it.

I went to
my favorite bookstore the other day. This is not a newsflash since I go there
once or twice a month. While there, I like to observe the interaction between
the children and the adults. There’s something about the interplay between
experience and discovery that I find both fascinating and formative.

During this visit, I hit the
jackpot. A young woman had charge of four preschoolers, all girls. Two were
hers while the others were her sister’s. The woman, I quickly noticed, treated
all the same. She showed no favoritism.

The woman entertained the kids in
the café at a table near were I was sitting. She seemed to have an endless
supply of goodies in her bag — Cheerios, fruits, crackers.

The bag she carried seemed like
something out of Mary Poppins.
It was more like a bottomless pit than a purse. That was good, as the
children’s appetites proved the bag’s match. And woman’s patience matched her
children’s appetites. I thought: “This humble woman, who clearly takes much joy
in caring for kids, is a saint.”

In the course of an hour or so,
she told one of the children at least a dozen times to sit still. I believe she
was worried about the child falling off the chair. Each time, as soon as the
woman lifted and sat the child back down, the little girl would start fidgeting
dangerously close to the edge again.

From her bottomless bag, the woman
soon produced a book — the Dr. Seuss classic Green Eggs and Ham. The reading of this whimsical tale calmed the
4-year-old down. She quickly became gripped by the story of a stubborn
eccentric who found it hard to try something new.

“Mommy,” said the child, “I don’t
like to try new things either.” The woman leaned over the table, gave the child
a hug and said, with a twinge of laughter in her voice: “Don’t I know!”

When the woman’s sister returned,
the one tending the children stepped out of the store a moment. In a couple of
minutes she re-entered, pushing a child-size wheelchair. She placed the little squirmer in the chair and took her for a ride through the
store.

In that moment, I saw myself as a
child again. I, too, was born with a disability that confined me to a
wheelchair. And I, too, was stubborn and fidgety.

A little later, the group landed
right behind my wheelchair in the cashier’s line. I paid for my purchase as
well as the special child’s book. As far as I know, I’m not a saint. I was just
living out some lessons Blessed Teresa of Calcutta taught with her words as well
as her life:

“Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls. …
If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each
other.” And of course, “In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do
small things with great love.”

While waiting for my
transportation, I saw that little girl holding the huge Barney book I’d just
treated her to. She was now wearing a smile so broad it would put big Barney’s
toothy grin to shame. As her mother thanked me with tears of gratitude, I thought:
“That smile is all the thanks I need.” Well, that and the chance to add someone
new to my list of souls to pray for.

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